A Thoroughly-Planned Gift
by Edgar Night
Summary: Zero, it turns out, is a great dancer with good taste in bad pop music. Rated for sexual content.


Zero hasn't allowed X into the basement for weeks. He went so far as to buy a padlock to keep him out while he prepares for… well, today.

Of course his partner noticed the hundred-something that mysteriously vanished from their bank account before the sudden lockout last month; he isn't stupid. (He quickly assured X that identity theft wasn't to blame, before his eyes fell out of his head from shock.) Of course he's also noticed Zero's tendency to retreat to the basement for hours on end whenever he has those hours to spare.

As the blond tosses his head and spins 'round and 'round to the rhythm of a generic club song, he wonders if X has any suspicion of what awaits him behind the austere closed door. Eyes closed, smiling from his big little secret and from the sheer thrill of his motions, Zero falls to a crouch before slowly moving back and throwing himself into a backwards arc, supporting himself only with his hand and the crook of his knee.

Damn, he's gotten good at this.

Zero runs a hand through his now very sweaty hair, going through one last move to be sure he has perfected everything before he takes his pre-Real Thing shower. (God bless plumbers with forethought, he thinks as his mind wanders towards the half-bath just across the basement.) When he's done, he shuts off his music, makes his way across the cold concrete floor, and, conveniently pre-stripped, steps under the cool water.

With a towel wrapped around his waist, Zero ties his hair up once more and makes his way back to the wide, open area of the basement. In a small cardboard box is his costume for the night: a deep red leotard to be worn under a deep red suit he'd happened upon at a thrift shop and, displaying a talent X for some reason found to be ungodly sexy, hand-tailored to fit himself. He wears his vest unbuttoned, keeps his navy tie loose, makes himself purposefully unkempt. X will like that, he's sure of it.

Finishing the ensemble with a crimson trilby, cocked dramatically to the left, Zero loosens his joints and makes his way upstairs.

X seems to have come running to the door the moment he heard the padlock open. He stands at the door, wide-eyed, frowning, head tilted to one side like a baffled kitten and good God he's the most adorable thing Zero has ever seen in his life.

The blond pulls his partner in to a slow kiss, savouring the way X relaxes—practically melts—against him, the way one hand so easily snakes up to the back of his neck and the other so possessively pulls at his hip. Zero murmurs happily, wordlessly, into X's barely open mouth, tangling his fingers in his soft brown hair.

"I was worried I'd have to eat all the cake myself," X murmurs, a laugh in his voice, but with a faint hurt behind it. He's been worrying, even after all their years together, that Zero forgot his birthday. Of all the things…

Zero nuzzles X's cheek, pecking the smooth skin. "I'd never do that to you," he says, rubbing his partner's scalp to soothe him. "You know that, right?"

Lazily—if there was one thing that makes X limp, it's massaging—the brunet nods. Zero grins and kisses his forehead. Those big—_gorgeous wonderful curious kind loving fierce like a sea he had the privilege to drown in every single day and he would be grateful for that until the day he died_—green eyes look up at him, quizzical once more, but there is a slow discernment in them now. "So," says X, running a finger slowly down Zero's blue tie, "how come you're looking so fancy?" He smirks a little. "I thought you hated wearing suits."

Zero's grin grows. "I'd love to explain, but it'd be much easier to show you," he says, and wraps a hand around X's wrist. He bites his lip, the thrill of a surprise rushing through him. "Close your eyes, if you don't mind."

Raising one eyebrow, X obeys, screwing his eyes comically shut. Zero doesn't even bother to stifle his giggle as he leads his partner slowly down the stairs.

X feels around for the steps—dear God, has it been so long since he walked down them that he doesn't remember how tall they are?—gripping Zero's arm like a lifeline. His friend encourages him gently, sometimes stepping behind him and putting a comforting hand on the small of his back, as if they are dancing instead of simply going down some stairs.

"It's okay," Zero keeps saying. "I've got you. I've got you."

That's been their catch phrase over the years, X thinks fondly. _It's okay; I've got you. I'm right here, I'll always be. _

Eventually, his foot lands on flat ground, his slippers making a quiet _slap_ against the concrete. (One of these days, he's going to bother Zero about getting some carpeting down here in case they ever want to entertain guests somewhere other than their tiny living room.) Zero continues guiding him, eventually moving his hand up from X's wrist and to his shoulder, nudging him into a chair.

And then he's gone. Not _gone_ gone, but physical contact has been broken and X can't help but pout just a little bit. He hears Zero's footsteps and a soft chuckle. There is silence, awful, frustrating-as-hell silence, and…

"Okay, open 'em."

X opens his eyes, squinting against the sudden light, and hesitantly looks around.

Oh. _Oh._

Zero is smirking at him, that taunting smirk he wears when he knows he's being irresistible, while leaning against a shiny steel pole. A shiny steel pole that most certainly was not in their basement last month and suddenly X knows where that money disappeared to and he can't really find it in himself to miss it if _this _is what it bought. His partner pulls a small remote from his suit pocket, points it at a small stereo just behind X, and winks.

The song that starts up is as familiar as breathing. He heard it for the first time years and years ago, when Zero had been less smooth about his wooing and went about it by slipping laser discs into his room and hoping for the best. Luckily, the best had come about, and now X couldn't help but associate this (objectively not very good) song with sweet, seductive Zero.

(Really, it was a miracle they had ever gotten together. Who the hell asks someone out with Moves Like Jagger?)

Zero is iambic pentameter in motion, smooth and controlled and beautiful. He's a slow storm of limbs and hair, and X is mesmerised, a big, idiotic grin taking up residence on his face with no intention of leaving.

The song ends; Zero doesn't stop moving. Another starts, and X realises he's going through the original disc. He covers his grin with his hand, feeling a flush spread across his face. Zero notices, apparently, because he's grinning again.

Rather melodramatically, X's partner blows him a kiss before tugging at his tie. He's still dancing, and two spins later the tie is off, tossed into X's lap.

_Oh._

Torn between admiring the control of Zero's dancing and taking in the… show being put on for him, X curls the hand over his mouth into a fist and bites on his knuckle. He wishes he'd thought to bring down the camcorder. Of course, now that he knows Zero has pole-dancing on his list of skills, he can ask to see again and oh but that thought is a little overwhelming. …When did Zero take off his vest?

Zero smirks, sliding down the pole with his back against it, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. And even though the sight of Zero topless is nothing he hasn't seen before, the setting makes X's breath catch in his throat. His partner licks his lips, removing and tossing away his shirt with practised fluidity.

Zero's free hand trails from his collarbone down to his navel, and X really, _really _wants to echo that trail with his tongue. More than usual.

Another song starts, this one slower than the last two. Zero is unbuttoning his pants now, eyes closed, lips parted. X wonders exactly how sacrilegious it would be to compare the sensually dancing Zero to an angel. Zero's trousers slide down his long legs, and X decides he really doesn't care.

He can see Zero's enthusiasm through his boxer-briefs, and it does absolutely nothing to help his own. It's taking quite a bit of effort not to drool a little, if he's perfectly honest with himself.

Zero moves away from the pole, his steps still the controlled movements of a dancer, shedding his underpants as he walks. He stops just in front of where X sits and leans down.

"Happy birthday," he whispers with a smile, pulling X into a hungry kiss.

X tangles his fingers in Zero's long, beautiful hair and nearly tackles him to the ground with the force of his reciprocation.


End file.
